


One More Time With Feeling

by Acai



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcoholism, Depressed Karkat, Depressing, Implied abuse, No Relationship, Oneshot, Sadstuck, Suicide Attempt, Trigger Warnings, davekat fluff, platonic davekat, sadstuck oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 15:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4630416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acai/pseuds/Acai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're tired.<br/>You're lonely.<br/>You're cold. <br/>And your feet have brought you to the roof.<br/>The only reasonable thing to do is jump.</p><p>But it looks more like the kid that you've never met before feels the need to stop you and take you inside.</p><p>or</p><p>The one where Karkat tries to commit suicide but Dave stops him. [Platonic davekat, sadstuck, trigger warnings]</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Time With Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't decided if I want more, so if you're willing to subscribe for more of this story, then please comment and tell me if you want this to be multiple chapters, or if you just want it to end like this UvU

It was cold. That’s what you remembered. It was _so_ cold, it was bitter and chilled your bones, you felt it through you exhaustion. You were tired. You were _so_ tired. Your eyes were drooping and you couldn’t think straight. You were tired of so much. You were tired of being you. You’re tired of pretending to be fine with it, pretending to be fine. You’re tired of not being anything, you’re tired of not being worth anything. You’re tired of being _tired,_ of being so sad. Everything is black and white, tired of everything being bland and depressing.

                You felt like living hell, every move brought a wince to your face, every movement made you feel like you were on fire. You had climbed out the window, you think. That’s how you got here, on a park bench and alone. You can’t stop crying now that you’re here, though. You’re just so _sick_ of it. You really can’t do anything, you just can’t. You couldn’t stop your own goddamn best friend from dying, you just stared at the body that laid there. You deserved what you got when you got home.

                It was _cold._ The snow on the ground soaked through your shoes and you were shivering. Just something else to add to the pain. The park bench was the coldest thing, covered in ice. You got back up, letting out a muffled wail as you tried to force yourself to stop crying. You walked along the sidewalk, letting the gray asphalt guild your way. The apartment building that stopped you became your destination, and you walked inside, relishing in the warmth. The lobby was empty, too. Fitting, because right now it seemed that the world was trying to remind you just how empty it was.

                You walked to the elevator, trailing your hands over the brass buttons and pressing the one for the roof. The doors shut and you stared at the cold metal until it opened again and the cold swept back onto you. You wince again as you stepped forewords, staring out at the snow covered roof.

_You couldn’t stop him._

_You didn’t even think to try._

_You let him walk into the street._

_You didn’t even think to check to see if cars were coming._

_Maybe if you had been smarter, maybe if you had been faster._

_Maybe if you had done something._

_Maybe you wouldn’t have a funeral to go to tomorrow._

_Maybe you would still have a best friend._

_Maybe everyone wouldn’t be crying because of you._

_Maybe you wouldn’t have lost the only person who cared if you lived._

    You walked to the edge, tired of living. He was dead and it was your fault, maybe you deserved to get to see him again. You reached out and grabbed a snowflake, letting it melt in your palm.

                You kind of want to just melt into nothing, too. One step forwards.

You should just listen to everyone who told you to do this. One step forwards.

You wouldn’t be so tired all the time. One step forwards.

You wouldn’t have to keep living when you just didn’t care anymore. One more step forwards and you’re nearly off.

You didn’t write a note. You dangle your foot off the edge as you think that maybe you should have done that.

You push off with your other foot and let yourself fall as you realize that there wouldn’t have been anyone to read it anyways.

 

Your next stunning realization is that you’re not falling. There’s no flash of white, or black or whatever. After that comes the one where you realize that you’re not so cold. The third is that you’re not so cold because of the _warmth_ pressed against your back. You relax for a split second against it, because if this is death than it’s nicer than you expected it to be. It warmer than you thought that it would be.

The final stunning realization is that you’re not dead. You’re still staring blankly down at the snow falling and your breathing is ragged and you suck in a large breath before letting out a strangled sound. You try to wrestle yourself from the arms that engulf you, letting out a shaken sob as you try and fling yourself over the edge.

“Hey, hey stop that.” Whoever has you mutters, dragging you from the edge.

“Stop, let me go, let me jump,” you hiss, still struggling.

“Why would I do that?” They ask, dragging you to the floor with them and keeping them engulfed in their arms.

“Because I don’t _know_ you, you don’t have any right to stop me!” You growl, trying to twist out of their grasp.

“Well I’m not just going to let you kill yourself on the roof of my apartment building.” They say with finality and you struggle to twist away weakly, giving up and sobbing weakly against their chest. “Why are you trying to do that anyways?” They ask more gently.

“Because I’m _tired,_ ” you cry. “I’m tired. I’m tired of being lonely.”

     They don’t move their arms and you watch the snow fall in longing. They stand up, pulling you up. You oblige numbly, letting them drag you back inside, not through the elevator but through the opening for the top floor apartment. You stare at the beige walls blankly and don’t move, wrapping your arms around yourself. The offender is a guy, looks about your age and practically has white hair; his eyes are covered with shades. He leaves the room briefly, returning with a hoodie and a towel. He hands them to you and when you just slide down the wall slowly and cradle them in your hands, he takes over, toweling off your wet hair and telling you to put the hoodie on.

                It’s warm, soft. You burst into another fit of tears at that. He seems genuinely confused at why you’re crying again and sits awkwardly for a moment.

“I don’t even know you,” you sniffle.

“Well, yeah but,” he mumbles awkwardly, running his hand through his hair. “I wasn’t just going to let you die.”

“Why?” You wail, tucking your hands into your sleeves. “You should have. No one’s going to be glad to see me come back.”

“Don’t say that, of course they are.” He argues. You shake your head, tears dripping down onto the hoodie.

“No, no they won’t. That’s what they wanted me to do, I was trying to listen for once, why didn’t you just let me fall? You don’t even know me, if you knew me you would have let me fall.” He scoffs at that.

“I don’t think I would have. You don’t seem like a bad person to me.” He says firmly and you just shake your head again slowly.

“I am, he’s dead and it’s my fault,” you whisper hoarsely. “The only person who ever gave a fuck and he’s dead. I don’t want to be here alone. I don’t want to be stuck here by myself, I want to be dead, I want to be wherever the fuck he went.” He watches you, not saying anything. You let another sob bubble up your throat, not even caring anymore. You catch sight of the clock reading 12:59. “I have to go,” you whisper, hiccupping. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know you. You shouldn’t have to put up with my shit.”

“It’s not like I don’t want to help you, I do. My name is Dave Strider, I’m sixteen, and I go to Skaia High.” He replied, shrugging. “There, now you know me. But I don’t know you… so…” You hiccup again, staring up at him.

“Karkat,” you whisper back. “I’m sixteen, I go to Prospit. Um, I want to thank you, honestly I do, but I don’t think that I’m very thankful. But thanks for the thought.” Dave rolled his eyes, but helped you up anyways.

“Yeah, I get it. Just… Don’t go and do the same thing, okay? Maybe just try and stay alive, that’s a pretty good idea.” Good luck, though. I hope I’ll see you again soon.” You just nod in reply, walking back to the door. You pause, making a move to take the sweater off but he stops you.

“It’s fucking cold out, just keep it.” He gently pushed you into the hallway and lifted up his hand in farewell before shutting the door so that you couldn’t even think about giving it back.

                You’re not really sure what happened the next few months. You remember sitting cross-legged on the floor in a pitch black room, swaddled up in the hoodie and only illuminated by the dim laptop screen in front of you. You were biting your thumbnail, a bad habit you had, and talking to John, who was asking where you were that night. You had missed out on a thing he was throwing. You made up some shitty excuse, and then closed your laptop.

                You were lonely, painfully lonely. You had John, but ever since Sollux died you two hadn’t really talked at all. You managed to pick the lock to your dad’s supply of alcohols and had been thoroughly drunk since then, pretty much all the time.

                That’s probably how you ended up here, once again in the middle of the night and alone. It wasn’t quiet or serene here, but it was snowing again. You were bitterly cold, but not as cold as the last night. You were still wearing the hoodie, even if you were even more bruised than last time.

                It was really loud this time. The highway across from you was filled with blurs and lights and the sound of cars rushing by. Semis and trucks rumbled past you and you stare out across the road blankly, your mind racing but blanking all at the same time. There are stoplights a little ways ahead, traffic rushing at pausing there. Here, though, it’s not stopping. It’s fast, it’s roaring, and it’s loud.

                You kind of just want to dart out into it.

                You stare out into the street, shifting your foot so step out into the stream.

                You’re paused by a soft ding, the bright screen of your now lit-up phone showing through your jacket pocket.

>>>Message from: turntechGodhead.<<<

                The kid who stopped you from jumping off a building, the one who told you to stay alive, had found your Pesterchum through John about three days ago, though neither of you had even known that the other knew John. Dave hadn’t said anything to John except that they had met through a school thing.

                John, ever the optimist, had believed the whole damn thing.

                And now, here you were about to run out into the traffic. He was probably just messaging you to tell you about some completely stupid, meaningless thing, but all the same it’s like he knew.

                And one more time, he stops you.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment if you find any mistakes, comment if you liked it or want more and leave a kudos if you enjoyed!
> 
> Check out my other stories or subscribe for more!
> 
> Thanks for reading~~


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